by Agatha Frost
Instead of passing, Graham pulled up and opened the door for Claire. Without thinking twice, she popped down the umbrella and climbed in. Soaked and shivering, she sat in the passenger seat, teeth chattering while she caught her breath. Graham blasted the heating up to full.
“Nasty out here tonight, isn’t it?” he said, easing the car back into first gear before continuing up the lane. “Wasn’t too keen on driving back from the factory in this, but it didn’t seem like it planned on drying up anytime soon.”
“You’ve been there all this time?”
“Unfortunately, yes.” Graham flicked on his full beams, but they barely broke through the wall of rain. “It appears my dear brother-in-law was on a one-man mission to get the factory shut down as quickly as possible. Everything was a mess. I’m going to have to close up for the rest of the week to figure out the best plan of action. I just don’t know the best way to get the message out.”
“There’s a phone system,” Claire admitted. “Nicola set it up. It sends out texts to everyone.”
“Oh?”
“I don’t know how it works.”
“Oh.”
“Ben used it,” Claire remembered. “There’s a group chat. Most people from work are part of that. I could add you, and you could tell everyone yourself.”
The dark and tight lane gave way to the lit-up cul-de-sac. Every light in Claire’s parents’ cottage seemed to be on; Graham’s was in complete darkness. He pulled up between the two and killed the engine.
“I’ll never get used to coming home to an empty house.” His forced smile was melancholy as he glanced at Claire, both hands still on the steering wheel. “Things weren’t perfect, but I never realised how different living alone would be.”
Things weren’t perfect. Did that mean he knew about the affair, or had there been other issues in their marriage?
The question was on the tip of her tongue; she bit it. As much as she wanted to figure out what was going on, she couldn’t bring herself to ask him such a personal question when his expression was so sad. Instead, her mind provided another topic, and this time she couldn’t hold back.
“Can I ask you something about Nicola?”
Graham nodded.
“Do you know if she found a little black book?” Claire pushed her wet hair away from her face, the dripping starting to irritate her. “Random, I know, but it was filled with formulas I’d come up with for candles. I misplaced it. Well, I lost it, and I haven’t been able to find it.”
“And you think Nicola found it?” Graham arched a brow.
“I don’t know,” she admitted, “but the development team sent around samples of a vanilla candle that smelled scarily accurate to the one I’d just privately developed at home.”
“So, you think Nicola stole it?”
“I’m not saying she stole, just—”
“Don’t worry,” he cut her off, smiling for real this time. “That sounds like something she’d do. If it’s anywhere, it’ll be in her home office. She was weird about leaving things at the factory. I think she knew it was only a matter of time before her brother tried to get his feet under the table.” He ducked to look at the dark cottage, and then at Claire. “We could have a look for it if you like?”
“Only if you’re sure?” Claire couldn’t believe her luck. “It’s not that important.”
“It’s important enough for you to ask about it.” He pulled the keys from the ignition. “It shouldn’t take long. I’ll even put the kettle on.”
In her soggy state, the thought of a hot coffee warmed Claire through. They ran through the rain to Graham’s front door. When they stepped into the chilly and dark hallway, Claire realised this was the first she had been in the cottage since the day Ryan left. Nicola and Graham hadn’t been the kind of neighbours to invite them over for barbeques – unlike Ryan’s mum, Paula, who used any and every excuse to invite the whole cul-de-sac in. Things hadn’t been the same since she died.
“There’s a towel in the downstairs bathroom,” he said as he hurried through the cottage, flicking on lamps. “Get yourself dry before you catch a cold.”
Claire shrugged off the heavy raincoat she’d borrowed from her father; she hadn’t been able to fasten her mother’s. Luckily, it had kept most of her clothes dry from the knee up.
Even though the cottage had an identical layout to all the others in the cul-de-sac, this was the first she’d seen with a downstairs bathroom. It was more a cupboard under the stairs with a toilet and a sink, but a bathroom, nonetheless.
“My mother would have a downstairs bathroom before the end of the week if she knew you had one,” Claire called through the door while she dried her hair with the towel.
“That was Nicola’s idea,” he called back, sounding like he was in the kitchen. “Never saw the point at the time, but it has its uses. Tea or coffee?”
“Coffee.”
Suitably dry, Claire left the bathroom. She popped her head in the sitting room, where everything was simpler and more modern than the cottage’s exterior would suggest. Paula always adopted a ‘more is more’ approach to decorating. Seeing it so stark and clinical made it difficult to connect this room with her childhood memories. She and Ryan had always played at Paula’s house; she never minded the mess that came with children the same way Janet had.
“Let me know if it’s strong enough.” Graham handed over the coffee as Claire entered the kitchen. “I’m more of a tea man, but Nicola was a coffee snob, so I expect it’s the good stuff. All tastes like ground-up dirt to me, mind. I’m a simple fella at heart.”
“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
“It started to feel like it.” He looked around the kitchen, which was even more alien to Claire than the sitting room. “Never really got any of this stuff. I liked it how it was when we first moved in, but Nicola wasn’t having any of it. She … she…”
To Claire’s complete shock, Graham doubled over and sobbed into his hands. Ditching her coffee, she hurried over to comfort him, but he recovered as quickly as it started.
“Sorry.” He turned to the kitchen window, brushing the tears away. “I’m still coming to terms with what happened.”
“There’s no shame in crying, Graham.”
“Isn’t there?” He ran a tea towel roughly against his cheeks. “Only weak men cry, or so Nicola used to say. I was never good enough. Never what she really wanted, I…”
Graham’s voice trailed off. He looked horrified at himself for revealing so much.
“I’m sorry.” He stiffened up before gulping down tea. “I shouldn’t be telling you all this. You don’t want to hear it. I’m your boss now, after all.”
She offered a smile. “You were my neighbour first.”
He returned the smile. “That is true.”
“For now, then, it’s Claire the neighbour popping around. You’ll meet Claire the employee properly when the factory opens again. And Claire the neighbour is happy to lend a sympathetic ear.”
For a moment, they sipped their drinks in silence, and Claire almost forgot why she was there. To look for the book, yes, but more importantly, to figure out what – if anything – Graham knew about the affair. After seeing him cry, she wanted to rule him out, to not suspect him. But her father’s words to her uncle popped into her mind; use your head, not your heart.
“We are neighbours,” Graham said, as though realising it for the first time. “Neighbour to neighbour, can I give you some advice?”
Sipping the coffee, Claire nodded; he was right, it was excellent.
“You might want to start looking for a new job.” He paused to sip his tea. “I’m not sure if I can pull the factory back from where it is.”
“Ben did that much damage so quickly?”
“Not quite.” He looked down and offered a tight smile, giving Claire the impression there was more to the story than anyone else knew. “You can’t tell people this, okay?”
Claire nodded that she wouldn’t.
“I had no idea.”
“That’s how William wanted it.” He exhaled, staring down into his tea. “He was too much of a good guy to scare all of you like that. He was holding out for some big orders. That’s all he needed, he’d say. A couple of big orders and everything would be fine. But they never came. The regular orders kept things skimming along, but these days, so much is produced overseas for half the price, and the Warton brand candles don’t sell like they used to. People prefer the handmade stuff these days, and I can’t say I blame them. William kept cutting back the fragrance oils because they cost too much, to the point where the candles barely had a scent.”
“I noticed.”
“As did the shops stocking them. What do they call that? A false economy?” He drank deeply. “When Nicola took over, she had no choice but to change things. I know people thought she was cruel for cruelty’s sake, but it came down to cutting hours or laying people off. She would have done either, to be honest, but I convinced her to cut hours instead of making people redundant. Her father would have hated that.” He sighed, shaking his head. “I’m not sure if I can fix things with the way they stand. I’m an accountant, not a miracle worker. I might have to sell the factory after all.”
“So, that was true?” Claire’s stomach knotted. “Ben told everyone Nicola was going to sell the factory. I didn’t know if I could believe anything he said.”
“Unfortunately, yes; in that, at least, he was honest.”
“To whom?”
“A developer.” He sighed again. “A property developer. Nicola applied for permission from the council to turn it into luxury apartments and they granted it. The offers lined up right away.”
The walls melted around Claire like a candle stood too near the fireplace. She gripped the coffee cup, her fingers shaking beyond control. No matter what she did – even if she solved the murder – she and everyone else at the factory could lose their jobs in favour of apartments they would never be able to afford.
“Let’s have a look for that book,” Graham said quickly, as though he could feel Claire’s panic. “Like I said, if it’s anywhere, it’ll be in Nicola’s office.”
Ditching their drinks, they went upstairs. Nicola’s office happened to be the same room on the floorplan as Claire’s bedroom next door; it was also the bedroom Ryan used to occupy. This room held no bed or candle-making dressing table, just a huge desk in the middle, facing away from the windows; filing cabinets; and bookcases. Claire walked right in, but Graham lingered by the door, not stepping over the carpet separator.
“I haven’t been in here since…” He gulped. “Since it happened.”
Claire was about to suggest they leave it for another day, but there it was, open on the desk: her little black book.
“Well, that solves one mystery.” Claire picked it up and held it tight to her chest. “How I’ve missed this. I can’t believe I lost it.”
“Oh, that black book?” Graham scratched the side of his head. “Nicola found that in the street. She said she didn’t know where it had come from but joked it had been sent from her dad because the formulas were complete and perfect. You did them all?”
“I did.” Claire flicked through the note-filled pages; one had been torn out. “Making scents is my passion.”
“Why aren’t you on the development team?”
“I … I don’t know.” Claire frowned down at the book, wondering the same. The vanilla page had been taken. “I was put on labels, so on labels I stayed.”
“What a waste of your talent.”
“When you put it like that…”
“I can’t promise a promotion because I don’t know if there’s a business to open on Monday morning,” Graham said, still standing at the door, “but we can talk about it if I figure something out, okay?”
“Okay.” Claire tucked the tiny book firmly into her jeans pocket. “Thank you, Graham. I really have missed having this.”
For the second time since she’d stepped into his cottage, Graham did something utterly gobsmacking. As she squeezed past him in the doorway, he leaned in close, the scent of stale cigarettes hot on his breath. Closing his eyes, he tried to kiss her, but Claire pulled back, and his lips met thin air.
“I don’t know why I did that,” he said immediately, stepping back, his expression as horrified as Claire felt.
“I should go.”
He wrapped his arms around himself, eyes trained on the floor. “Yeah. Probably for the best.”
“Thanks for the coffee.”
“No problem.”
Heart pounding, Claire hurried down the steps, grabbed her coat, and left. She wasn’t sure she breathed until she was safely in the artificial warmth of her parents’ hallway. Why had Graham tried to kiss her? Had it come from nowhere? Or was she so out of the romance loop she’d missed the signs? Had she given him signs, albeit unintentionally?
“You all right, love?” her father asked, limping from the kitchen with a cup of tea in one hand and his house cane in the other; he only used that when his foot was really bad. “Look like you’ve just seen a ghost.”
“I was just at Graham’s cottage.” She pulled the book from her pocket. “Nicola had this after all.”
“Oh, that’s good!”
“Maybe.” She flicked it open to the first page, where she’d very clearly written her name, full address, and phone number. “Graham says she told him she found it on the street. The vanilla page has been ripped out, but it turns out I might be in for a promotion to the development team.”
His face lit up.
“Or,” she added before he could congratulate her, “I’m about to lose my job. Graham might be selling the factory to a developer.”
“He can’t do that.” Alan limped to the console table in the hallway and put his tea down. “The Warton factory has been there since—”
“1890.” Claire closed the book. “And according to him, he can. The council approved it, and Nicola really was shopping around for a buyer. Dad, Graham, he—”
Claire stopped herself. Much as she wanted to tell him about the awkward failed attempt at a kiss, she wasn’t sure how her father would react. He was the type of man who would either chuckle it off or go around and bash Graham around the head with his cane for daring to kiss his daughter without her permission; there was no in-between.
“Yes, dear?”
“He—”
But something even stranger than the kiss popped into Claire’s mind.
“He didn’t mention Jeff’s murder,” she said, almost to herself. “He didn’t bring it up once.”
“Are you sure?”
“I’m sure.” Claire nodded, her thoughts swirling. “It’s all everyone I’ve seen today has talked about. They only found the body this afternoon, and he didn’t mention it, not even in passing.”
To Claire’s surprise, Alan grinned from ear to ear and rested a hand on her shoulder.
“Now you really are thinking like a detective,” he said, patting her on the cheek. “You still committed to figuring this out?”
“More than ever.”
Chapter Ten
Claire didn’t add Graham to the factory group chat. Nevertheless, he found his wa
y in and announced the factory would be closed for the rest of the week. He also confirmed that everyone would get full pay for the shifts they were scheduled to work during those cancelled days. Despite the dozens of questions following this announcement, he left the chat and didn’t check in again.
“There are worse ways to spend the day,” Damon said the next day, helping himself to another slice of brownie. “In fact, I think this is the life. Being paid to sit around eating brownies? Who wouldn’t love this?”
“Speak for yourself.” Claire took a bite of hers. “I wasn’t scheduled to work today, so I’m sitting around eating brownies without being paid.”
“Well, I’m being paid.” Uncle Pat picked up a brownie and held it to the light. “I’m not sure about all this vegan stuff, though. I miss Jane’s Tearoom. Now, she was a woman who knew how to make a flapjack!”
“You really can’t tell the difference,” Claire’s father said, reaching for a second helping from the large plate they’d ordered. “Besides, we’ll need the fat if we’re going to be using our brains to figure this out.” He glanced at Claire and shook his head. “Don’t tell your mother. She’ll kill us both, and there’s been murder enough in this village to last a lifetime.”
It had been Claire’s idea to meet with Uncle Pat to discuss things. Despite butting heads on their previous meeting, neither brother was the type to sustain a grudge against the other for more than an hour. Since Pat was part of the management team and had worked at the factory longer than anyone Claire knew, she hoped he could provide some insight into Graham on a professional level. Meeting at the café – where they could eat junk in peace – had been Alan’s idea. Damon, living above the café, had just happened to already be there, working his way through his second hot chocolate of the day.
“I’m not used to all this sitting around,” said Pat after putting the brownie back. “I like to keep busy. I feel idle. No offence, Alan.”
“None taken.”
“Enjoy it while it lasts,” Damon muttered through his final mouthful of brownie. “We’ll all be back to work on Monday. Everyone seems to think Graham will put things back how they used to be since he and William were so close.”
